


Interest In Other Games

by keyboardclicks



Series: "Men at Some Time are Masters of Their Fates" [1]
Category: Raffles - E. W. Hornung
Genre: Cricket, M/M, Prompt Fic, rafflesweek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-10
Updated: 2017-03-10
Packaged: 2018-10-01 23:07:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10202876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keyboardclicks/pseuds/keyboardclicks
Summary: Raffles panted and sweated under the oppressive August heat, and I was unable to keep myself from thinking of the last time I had seen him in such a state of disheveled exhaustion...(Read as: Raffles plays cricket and Bunny is easily distracted)





	

It was by far the hottest day of the year when Raffles was to play in yet another match at Lord’s.  I accompanied him, as I had often done before, delighted not perhaps by the company I was sure to endure but instead by the chance to watch my friend display his skills.  Admittedly dangerous when at bat and no less impressive in the field, the real pleasure was to watch AJ bowl, and though I had never been remotely talented in any aspect of the sport I had no trouble in seeing the almost artistic subtleties with which he played the game.  As with other things, Raffles did not rely on brute force for his victories, but instead on the skill, cunning, and talent I so knew him for.  If the batsman had a trick up his sleeve, Raffles would have one to counter it, and then another to ensure his victory.

We were only men, though, Raffles included, and so not immune to the damp heat of August.  Quality of play suffered noticeably; balls slipped too loosely from fingers and batsmen swung too late as everyone suffered in the stifling, oppressive heat.  Those in the field struggled to catch the ball as it flew overhead, distracted by the blaring sunlight.  In the pavilion we attempted to enjoy the game as well as we were able, but even the men I knew to be most boisterous were much too fatigued to tell any sorts of grand stories.

My attention, when I was able to focus, was of course entirely on Raffles.  Although his performance suffered he was no less the champion of all those on the field.  I noted with delight batsman’s clear frustration at the unpredictable turns taken by each ball Raffles threw at him.  I saw how Raffles’ shirt was open at the throat and how even in his light cricket flannels he panted and was growing weary beneath the sun.  I remembered how he had told me he regretted agreeing to play after realizing how hot the day was to be, but that there was no polite way to excuse himself from the obligation barring a terrible illness or injury he did not have.  Realizing how uncomfortable I was simply sitting and watching, I could not imagine his discomfort.  Looking closely I could see his shirt sticking to his back, perspiration rolling down his forearms where he had pushed up his sleeves, but despite this his eyes had their usual steely concentration as he surveyed the task at hand.  The cap which shielded his eyes from the sun did nothing to contain his curls of black hair; I more than once saw AJ tuck a strand behind his ear only to have it fall back before his eyes when he next bowled.

It was rare for Raffles to be so disheveled even when playing more difficult matches than this; such was the effect of the heat.  My mind could not help but wander, though, to the last time I had seen him in such a way, or a similar one at any rate.  I saw in my mind’s eye Raffles’ fine, athletic form; his strong shoulders and firm chest, the latter rising and falling as he panted with exertion.  I saw his clear blue eyes fixed upon me, the curl of his lip and flare of his nostril as his jaw set in concentration…

“-lright?”

I must have noticeably jumped for the gentleman who had spoken to me flinched back.  Attempting to clear my thoughts I looked at him in haste and stammered, “I-I’m sorry, w-what was that you said?”

“I asked if you were alright,” said the man, raising a curious, bushy eyebrow.  “Your face has turned a rather magnificent red, dear fellow.  I think the heat must be affecting you.”

“O-oh.”  I tried to laugh, then fanned myself lightly with my hand.  “Yes, it must be the heat.  Absolutely dreadful today.  Stifling!”

“I’ll say,” the man agreed, then appearing to lose interest in me entirely.  

Turning back to the game I tugged at my collar, inwardly cursing myself for allowing my mind to wander.  And to such a thing!  In such a place!  Was I growing disinterested in the game?  Or perhaps, like Raffles, I was merely more entertained by thoughts of other, more illicit activities.

With a sigh I lit a cigarette, only to extinguish it moments later when the dry, blue-grey smoke clouded my sight.  Raffles bowled a very impressive six and I, set on keeping my focus towards the game, clapped perhaps too enthusiastically. That, however, was his final ball, and so he took the field in place of another man whose name I did not care to remember.  

The day and match stretched on in tandem, and we were left unsure which would be the first to end.


End file.
